


Aches and Pains

by venom_for_free



Series: Fantaesy [6]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Death, Drama, How many negative tags do I have to slap onto this for people to realize this is really dark?, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Master/Slave, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual, One Shot, Sex, Sexual Content, Stockholm Syndrome, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, the not fun kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29042958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free/pseuds/venom_for_free
Summary: The bartender has a drink for every problem. Whiskey and wine, beer and rum, vodka and gin. The entire syrupy rainbow with sprinkles on top. You can get additional strawberries or pineapple or even fucking olives.So naturally, when he sits down, Yuri orders a glass of milk. People used to laugh about it, calling him a baby. Those people obviously never watched ‘clockwork orange’. But tonight, no one is dumb enough to pull that bullshit.Yuri is still nervous, though; the air is buzzing with impending violence, and the boots around him are as heavy as his mood.--or: Otabek is the heir of the Kazakh mafia. His gift is a young boy from the Russian mafia. He doesn't treat his new pet very well.If you like happy stories, this fic is not for you.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: Fantaesy [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848073
Comments: 39
Kudos: 38





	Aches and Pains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/gifts).



> Hello friends.  
> If you followed me for funny dumbasses and heartfelt content, turn around.  
> If you like pain and pleasure and people getting bad ouchies, you will probably like this.  
> Mind the tags. There's nothing graphic in here, but the topics are discussed. 
> 
> Prompt from Taedae, based on "The bartender has a drink for every problem."

The bartender has a drink for every problem. Whiskey and wine, beer and rum, vodka and gin. The entire syrupy rainbow with sprinkles on top. You can get additional strawberries or pineapple or even fucking olives. 

So naturally, when he sits down, Yuri orders a glass of milk. People used to laugh about it, calling him a baby. Those people obviously never watched _‘clockwork orange’_. But tonight, no one is dumb enough to pull that bullshit. 

Yuri is still nervous, though; the air is buzzing with impending violence, and the boots around him are as heavy as his mood. 

Tonight will be the night. But this isn't where the story begins. This is where it ends, and so we have to start from the top. 

\---------- 

Yuri is sold into slavery at the ripe age of ten. An entire lifetime, when you're a rabbit. Or a platypus. But when you're a child, a human child, ten years mean nothing and tossing a life away for money at that point is just … oh, it's a lot. 

Knowing his parents were crackheads does nothing to calm the fire in his soul. They still handed him over to the mafia in a quick-and-dirty exchange—a child for drugs. 

It's almost ironic how well the mafia treats him. Yuri gets to train with the royal family, alongside Mila Babicheva and Viktor Nikiforov, as if his own name means something, too. It doesn't, of course. He's a playmate, a companion, a fancy pet. Until he isn't. 

They raise him like a pig for slaughter, feed him fat with three meals a day. Yuri turns soft from plush mattresses and free education. At fifteen, he is pretty sure he can take on the entire world. 

But that's not what his pakhan has in mind. 

\---------- 

He's not a day older than sixteen when Yuri gets sold again. His entire world shatters—what does this mean? But it's his own fault for thinking he’d found a home in the hands of his handlers. 

Racehorses that stumble and fall are shot, sometimes right there, a few paces away from the tracks and barely out of the audience's sight. And then, when everyone leaves to collect their bets, no one acts surprised about the fresh sausage sold on the side. Very fresh. Almost as fresh as a sixteen-year-old virgin. 

That's what they sell him as. And it's not like Yuri saved himself for anyone or like he actually fucked around before, but … the _job description_ he's given is … worrying. 

"It's just for a few days," Yakov tells him. 

"He probably doesn't even want to touch you," says Lilia, almost making it sound like an insult. 

"You are still part of the family," offer Mila and Viktor. But was he ever? Wasn't he more like an expensive toy? People recently began to show interest in Yuri, and now, Yakov and Lilia decided to sell him to the highest bidder. 

Because at the end of the day, Yuri is a consumer good like everything else. 

\----------- 

He expects to be dolled up for his trip, but no one comes in to style his hair and do his makeup. Yuri isn't a stranger to feminization; it was part of his training in the bratva. But his dwellings don’t matter, not when the doors to his room burst open, and he jumps out of his chair. 

"Plisetsky?" The human version of a bulldog stares at him. Yuri nods. "Follow me." There's no room for a discussion, even though his body burns with the need to speak his mind. Yuri just trails after the man’s combat boots into a sleek black car, more like a bullet than a vehicle. 

The pakhan doesn't offer his goodbye. They said it won't be forever, so Yuri gets no farewell. 

Yuri isn't a man of hope. He isn't. 

He isn't. 

He isn't. 

Hope is for the weak. 

When the door falls shut and the car takes off, Yuri decides what he wants to focus on is called ‘certainty’. He's certain he will see his new family again. Those who gave him food, a bed, an education, a home. And if that means being sold to someone else for a while? He will manage. 

It's like a little mission for the family business. 

\--------- 

As it turns out, not one bit about it is like a mission for the family business. There's nothing to soften the blow when the car door opens and Yuri falls onto a path made of stone in front of a pair of black leather Oxfords. 

How he recognized them? Training and education. Unlike most other shoes, Oxfords have one principal defining characteristic. An Oxford is a shoe with laces, not a slip-on, monk strap shoe or Chelsea boot. And they have a closed lace system, contrary to the open one of a Derby shoe. 

Why exactly did he go through the training to learn all of this, just for the bratva to sell him off as soon as he's sixteen, though? It makes no sense. But at least Yuri now knows the person in front of him has money. He wears them with a sport jacket and slacks, the most casual of all formal looks. This is probably the guy's free-time outfit. 

A snob, Yuri concludes, before the stranger sweeps down and … picks him up? "Piotr! This is not how we greet guests!" And fuck, is his voice deep. Yuri turns his head a bit and almost cuts his cheek on a jaw so sharp, it nearly costs him his eye. "He’s just arrived and you already show him your worst?" 

Wait. What? Yuri blinks because, holy fuck, there's a disconnect in his mind. Why is this man speaking Russian? 

They were in the car. They got on an airplane. They flew for a few hours. Yuri left the aircraft. Got into another car. Came here. And … now they are back in Russian? He's pretty sure he wasn't just tired on his way; he _really_ couldn't read the signs all over the airport, meaning he was in another country. And yet … 

"Hey, little bird." The deep voice seems to drop even more and this time, Yuri puts in the effort to look up and stare into the face of a man not much older than himself. "Hello there. I'm Otabek." 

This is how Yuri meets his new owner. 

\----------- 

One month in and Yuri can’t decide if he likes his new life. It’s a golden cage. Every time he’s traded off, things seem to magically improve, which makes no sense. And he was taught early on not to trust things that appear to be too good to be true. So he’s wary around the man in black suits and expensive shoes with the voice of honey and thunder cracking through a summer rain. But Yuri quickly learns he doesn’t have to worry about much otherwise. Actually, not about a single thing because … if he thought he was a pet before, well fuck him, this is an entirely new world. 

Gold wraps around his neck, keeping him close—a collar that doesn’t even try to hide what it is. People coo at him and call him things that might be kind, might be derogatory. He wouldn’t know, they don’t speak his language. Master does. Otabek. But giving him a name makes him human, and the last thing Yuri wants is to humanize his captor. After all, at the end of the day, he wants to go home, return to his family 6 hours away—by plane. Master has a plane, but Yuri doubts Otabek would let him use it to flee back to Saint Petersburg. The guy doesn’t seem as dense as Yuri would like. 

He’s uprooted, but when wasn’t he? His new home, Almaty, is the city of gold. That’s what people tell him at least, but Yuri isn’t sure if it’s something the travel companies say or if it stems from the family name of his captor. The Altins own enough money to make the Russian mafia look like a filthy bunch of rats and fuck, Yuri’s bratva is a successful one. But in this house? Everything shines with the gleam of a thousand artificial suns. Gold on the ceiling, gold on his bedposts, gold around his neck and ankles and hands. 

Yuri is treated like a wild cat and even though the attention is fun, he wants nothing more than to be a person again. Except he can’t because he’s at the whim of someone else now. 

Silently, in a corner of his mind, the hatred grows. 

  
His life has not been his in a very long time, but back in Saint Petersburg, Yuri built … something. Maybe it would hurt less if Viktor and Mila stopped calling. He doesn’t want to answer them, doesn’t want to answer _to_ them. He wants to hide away in the lavish rooms with ivory dressers and mahogany desks. But he can’t because his life is not his, and his master decides when Yuri wakes, eats, sleeps, shits. Fuck him, fuck the man. 

At least no one has touched Yuri. So far. 

Tightly curled around the man’s ankles, warming his feet beneath the dark wood of his office desk, Yuri’s insides bubble like a volcano. His mind wanders to images of home and the scent of Lilia’s pirozhki and god, his hatred will choke him one day if the heavy gold chain doesn’t. 

\-----------

Yuri’s deep, dark anger eases when he notices he’s not the only one of his kind. Because his master has brothers and sisters and they all have … pets. Gifts from their father, Yuri learns. He, a thinking, feeling, human being, was a gift to some guy’s child for the amazing success of … existing. It wasn’t even his birthday. Viktor tells him all that when they talk one night, curled tight on the cloud-like mattress he keeps warm. Until Otabek climbs in and kicks him out. But at least he's kicked out. Because after this night, Yuri thinks differently about his position in the city of gold. 

Otabek’s brother sleeps over with his _pet_. Yuri barely gets a moment of rest that night because the woman doesn’t stop screaming. As if he stops just because some girl asks him to. As if he won’t use her again and again just because she’s in pain. Yuri is filled with gratitude for the couch and a very different mindset about his handler. 

About Otabek. 

\----------

Two months and Yuri loses the golden rings around his wrists and ankles. Everyone in the house watches him, but hell, Yuri refuses to fuck up. They want to see him do something stupid and get his shackles back, but no, oh no, he will not fall for that shit. Half the staff is clearly marked as slaves of some sort and none of them seem to have as much freedom as he does. 

Maybe, life in Almaty isn’t that bad. 

\-----------

It takes three months for Yuri to learn how bad things can get in Kazakhstan. He’s bundled up and comfortable under a heavy blanket when the bedroom door flies open and someone stumbles in. Not someone. Master. He might be drunk, or maybe not, but it’s hard to tell because he’s yelling. Yuri tries to flee from the bed and give him room, but whatever cracked Otabek open bleeds out of him like lava already. 

Yuri’s hair is grabbed in a tight fist before he can stumble a single step away, and he gets pulled back onto the bed. Flung onto the sheets. Pushed into the velvet. Held with a tight grasp around his neck, the warm gold beneath Otabek's palm is no longer the comfort it became. 

“What are you doing?” Yuri chokes out, trying to understand, desperately, what broke the usually calm man. 

“Did you know?” It’s hissed in his direction, like a snake. Otabek is so close. Yuri arches his back and tries to turn away, tries to control his fear so he won’t choke on his own saliva, but Otabek keeps him pinned in place. Even louder now, the question comes again. “DID YOU KNOW?” 

Yuri shakes his head because _no, he did not know_. Whatever this is about. Apparently unconvincingly, though, because a second later, Otabek climbs onto the bed with him, above him, cages him in, and grins. Right into Yuri’s face. They are so much closer than they ever were, closer even than the day when Otabek picked him up as if he weighed nothing. 

How is it he seems so much scarier now, even though Yuri knows him better?

“I know nothing, I knew nothing, I—” Yuri is silenced in the middle of his plea by Otabek’s lips on his. Yuri dreamed of a first kiss, had for a while, but not like this. Maybe, in some wild fever dream, he could picture himself kissing the face of the man above him, but in his mind, it doesn’t taste like iron and bile. 

Yuri protests, first with little mumbles and grunts, then with hands and legs. But all his attempts are foiled. Otabek is stronger than he is, broader, even though their height is almost equal. But Yuri is a spitfire and he will not go down lying back and giving away the only thing he has—his dignity. 

So he fights. 

Otabek wins. 

That night, Yuri learns he has a lot more to lose than his dignity. 

\----------

Pain wakes him. The sun is barely up, but he must have shifted in his sleep, the echoes of harsh hands and relentless touch reverberating through every part of his being. Yuri was a pet, but he wasn’t a slave. He was always his own person. Always. 

Not anymore. 

Every inch of him burns, the colorful marks scattered across his body evidence of having been claimed in a more brutal, primal way than the chains ever did. How did he find some semblance of sleep? It couldn’t have been long. Or maybe it was, the entire night is a blur and his brain refuses to go back beyond the images of _ceiling_ and _blanket_ and _pillow._ Something very wrong happened, but it’s almost as if he woke from a fleeting dream. He’s shocked to the bone, but … Yuri can’t fathom it. 

_Did you know?_

Yesterday’s question, almost an accusation, rings around his skull. Empty. That is what his brain is. His heart is. His soul is. 

He doesn’t know. 

Does it matter? 

\----------

The cuffs are back. Tighter now. A leash was added. Yuri isn’t allowed to stand anymore. 

Why is he crawling? 

Why does he have to crawl? 

Nothing makes sense. 

Viktor is supposed to call. 

But Otabek takes his phone away. 

A punishment for … _something._

\-----------

Everyone in the house is very different today. 

Yuri finally learns what he might or might not _have known about_ when Otabek forces him into a black suit and commands him to stand upright. 

It’s almost strange after days and days on his hands and knees, but Yuri needs to walk on his own. 

Master supports him. Otabek supports him. Keeps him upright. Yuri clings to his arm. Something inside him tightens, but Yuri doesn’t understand why a part in his brain is screaming. Can’t be that important, then. 

He isn’t allowed to speak as he stands next to Otabek and, just for a moment, has to support his master’s weight when he threatens to fall to his knees. But Yuri keeps him upright, and a second later, Otabek is steadfast again. He doesn’t waver until the casket is finally starting to disappear under the heavy thuds of shoveled earth. But it’s understandable. Yuri would struggle, too, if his brother was laid to rest. If he had one. Would he grieve Viktor or Mila like that? 

The man was killed by his pet. Shot, and not just once. A rain of bullets left him torn open, that’s what the kitchen ladies say. 

Yuri understands now, understands why Otabek had to check his loyalty. Why he had to claim every last bit of Yuri, even though the details are foggy. When he tries to focus, Yuri gets a headache and oh, Beka doesn’t like when he cries. 

Beka. 

That is what he dubs his master after today. Otabek doesn’t do him justice, not with the way he pets Yuri’s hair, whispers his name, holds him at night. 

Sometimes, it hurts in the morning. But that is probably just the pain of waking to an empty bed. 

\----------

Yuri gets to sleep in the bed now. Every night. Gets to keep his master warm, gets to stay with him even for most of the day. By now, he’s learned a few Kazakh phrases. Viktor calls him less and less, or maybe his phone isn’t always around. Things are … unclear sometimes. 

Unfocused. 

Like right now. 

Yuri bites his bottom lip and smiles as he raises and lowers his body. It’s like riding a horse, really. Or what he thinks it must be like, since he never actually sat on a horse. But the thought broadens his smile, which in return causes Beka to coo and cup his face. 

Good. 

Otabek is in a good mood today. When Beka is happy, Yuri is, too. So he keeps moving, keeps smiling, forgets about the pain, and thinks about the warmth in his tummy. He is so warm. Otabek always keeps him comfortable. When he looks down, there is something weird at the point they become one. Yuri touches the red streaks, stares at his hand in wonder, but Otabek takes it away and cleans it. 

Such a gentleman. Otabek is so good to him. Yuri nods idly, clenches where it barely hurts anymore, and keeps moving. 

\----------

Sometimes, when Beka is on the phone, Yuri gets to make himself useful from beneath his desk. Those are his favorite days now. When he swallows like a good boy, Otabek brushes his hair back, cards calloused fingers through it, and Yuri is home. 

\-----------

He doesn’t have to wear any kind of shackles anymore. Why did he have them in the first place? When did he get them? Has he always had them? How long has he been in Almaty? Is Mila okay? Yuri touches his throat, where the warm metal rests against his skin. 

This is the city of gold and everything is fine. 

\----------

Something is wrong. He licks his lips, eyes wandering the room. Yuri can’t tell what it is, but … Everyone is here. The entire Altin family, or well, those still among them, and the pets, the staff, the guest— 

The guests. 

Yuri zeros in on one of the women. She keeps glancing at him. But worse, she keeps glancing at Beka. 

His Beka. 

The collar around his throat burns red hot. What does she think this is? A joke? His collar is golden. Like a wedding band. Otabek Altin is his. No cheap whore should dare look at him, no matter who she is. Beka thankfully doesn’t seem to notice. 

But when the meeting is over, Yuri grabs his arm and begs. _Please? Pretty please?_ He paws his lover’s lap, brushes over the zipper, wants, needs. This is his place in the world. Yuri doesn’t know another place. This is his home. This is—

Otabek picks him up and carries him to their room. 

This night, there is no iron and bile. This night, there are kisses and silent promises of love. 

\-----------

Yuri is, without a doubt, the most privileged pet around the house, even when the other Altins are around. The staff talks, the playthings talk, his master and his family talk, but Yuri doesn’t care. He has a single mission in life—make Otabek Altin happy. 

And he is good at it. So good, he gets rewards. Small ones, like kisses. Big ones, like a phone call. But Yuri doesn’t know what to do with that one until Otabek punches in a number and calls. 

The line connects shortly after, and then, for the first time in what must be months—Russian. 

When did they stop speaking in Russian? Yuri only realizes how much he’s missed it now that he hears his mother-tongue again. Does he normally speak Kazakh? He never really—or maybe—did he learn Kazakh? How long has he been here? 

“Vitya?” 

_“YURA?”_ The surprise in Viktor’s voice is almost ridiculous. It’s as if he didn’t expect Yuri to be alive. Which makes no sense, since obviously, Yuri is very much here. _“How are you? Are you okay?”_

“Hmm. ’m good.” Yuri smiles at Otabek, because why not? This is what he loves doing. 

_“Fuck, Yura. You need to come back! Recently, all hell broke loose and—”_

Otabek taps a single finger on the keys and Viktor is silenced again. Now, Yuri pouts, but he quickly forgets the offending problem when Beka raises him into his arms and carries Yuri to bed. 

\-----------

“Would you like to go back to Russia, my dear?” Yuri is awoken with kisses all over his body as he likes to be. He curls into the touch, groans, and writhes beneath Otabek’s fingers. 

“I will go wherever you want me.” 

He receives a hum in return, then more kisses. After that, Yuri stops thinking. 

\----------

They are on their way to Saint Petersburg when the language on the signs changes once again. Yuri can read them in both languages now. For some reason, Otabek seems tense, but Yuri? He is happy. He will see his family again! He can’t wait to introduce his master to them. 

But when the car finally arrives, Otabek stops him from exiting. 

“The collar.” He points at the object around Yuri’s neck. “I’ll need it back.” 

“No!” This is new. Yuri never says no. Otabek appears to be just as surprised, but Yuri can’t stop himself. “Please. It’s …” It holds him together. Who is Yuri without his golden collar? 

Otabek nods, slowly, then exits the car. This time, the pakhan is here to welcome him home. Strange. Home is in Almaty, isn’t it? Yuri blinks and has to put in effort to recognize the man. There is so much fog in his brain. Why is there so much fog? 

Viktor and Mila smile, but they look tense. 

With his eyes on Otabek, Yuri touches the ring around his neck. 

Home. 

\----------

That night, Yuri tries to curl around his master, but Otabek is cold. Not physically. No, he is the same oven he usually is, but … when Yuri’s hand dutifully slips under the blankets, it’s brushed aside. Why does Beka not want him? Did he do something wrong? Is something broken in Saint Petersburg? 

He is wrapped in a tight, possessive embrace that makes him hum. Good. Secure. Safe. 

“Yurka.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Don’t let them break us.” 

“Why would they—”

“Don’t. Let. Them. Break. Us.” A hand tightens around his neck. It means Beka loves him because it helps Yuri feel the collar better. 

“No,” he whispers into the night. “No, master. I would never.” 

\-----------

For three days, Mila and Viktor seem to be … right next to him wherever he goes. Like shadows. They give him worried glances, half-smiles, confused looks. But the strangest thing is, they keep trying to pull Yuri to the side. But no. No, he will not let them break his bond with Otabek. So Yuri squirms out of their hold whenever he can and rushes to catch up with his master when they get separated. Do they not understand? Do they not understand Yuri loves him? Needs him? 

He tightens his arms around Otabek’s forearm. They will not be separated. 

They won’t. 

They can’t. 

\---------- 

“What is it you’re eating out of his hands?” Viktor frowns after dinner, when Otabek leaves to go to the toilet. Yuri would have liked to come along, would have done everything so he isn’t alone with his former family. But Beka said no, so he stayed in place like a good pet. He is the best pet. The best. 

Instead of answering, he shakes his head at Viktor. 

“Yuri. What is it he is feeding you?” 

A glare across the table; Beka warned him they would think it’s strange. But Yuri refuses to eat on his own, refuses to take in what isn’t hand-fed to him by his master. How else would Otabek have full control? Beka likes being the one in charge. When Yuri complies, it feels really good. When Yuri doesn’t want to do what his master says—

His face scrunches up with the headache spiking through his thoughts. 

No. Disobedience is a bad thing.   
  


Bad. 

Yuri is not bad. 

Yuri is good. 

Very good. So he eats only what Beka feeds him, even if Yakov is pale-faced and Lilia keeps pressing her hand to her mouth. 

Maybe she is jealous. 

\----------- 

Palms against the window, Yuri wails. 

No. 

No, they are taking him away, and they can’t! They _can’t!_

He has to be with Beka, he has to stay, he has to be good and kind and lovely and— 

\----------

“Yuri?” 

The side of a boot pokes into his rib. Beka? No. Another male voice. He knows that one. But from where? When? Ugh. Yuri opens his eyes just the smallest bit. Viktor. There is Viktor, cowering above him. Mila next to him. She gives Yuri a smile but it’s … wrong. “Welcome back, tiger.” 

No one’s called him that in a while. Yuri doesn’t like it. It makes his headache come back. Slowly, but it’s there. 

That is when he notices what isn’t there. 

Otabek. 

Yuri tosses and turns, trying to see what’s going on, trying to understand, but then there is Viktor, holding him down and Mila talking really fast and oh, why is she crying? Why are Viktor’s arms scratched up? Where does the blood come from? 

And why is Yuri swaying? 

Oh no. 

Oh. 

\-----------

_What do you think you are doing?_

_We had to!_

_No, you didn’t! What if Altin finds out?_

_He will find out. Yuri has been gone for hours._

_Are you aware this might cause an attack? What were you thinking?_

_He’s one of us!_

_Apparently no longer!_

_I refuse to believe that! We trained him for six years! Altin had him, what, a year?_

_But you see the same shell of a person I do, right? He’s nothing but a dog. Less than a dog. He eats from his hands!_

_Maybe if you hadn’t sold him_ —

_It was him or you!_

_Maybe it should have been me then!_

_Are you insane? Did you see what happened to that boy?_

_No! Because he won’t let us see. Whenever we get close_ —

_So you decided you would just separate him from Altin?_

_Well, it’s not like it could get any worse?_

_Oh. It can get a lot worse. It can only get worse from here._

\----------

Yuri wakes in his bed. He knows it’s his because he can scent Otabek nearby. Like a dog, a well-trained dog. A pet. The thought makes him smile. A hand in his hair holds him close. What happened? No idea. But it’s warm between his legs, so he knows he is back home. Yuri closes his eyes. 

\------------

The week in Saint Petersburg is almost over, but Yuri isn’t sure if he’s happy or sad about it. After his fifth day, the day he barely remembers, he isn’t allowed to leave the room anymore. It reminds him of his start as master’s pet. Which is nice. But he misses Otabek. And when he comes back, he smells like sweat and gunpowder. 

Yuri doesn’t ask. 

\-----------

Mila, Viktor, Lilia, Yakov. Everyone is there to send him off again, but the situation is _… tense._

“I want to say goodbye to my brother without anyone listening.” 

Viktor has a brother? Yuri’s eyebrows pull together as he tries to figure out who, but then, he is gently pulled forward by Mila. “You have him all the time. Please. Let Viktor say goodbye.” No! Wait. This is about him? Why do they want to separate them again? Yuri thinks about protesting, but—”We helped you find the guy that took him. Helped you kill the dude. Please, Beks, you should know we are on your side.” Mila offers a saccharine smile. Huh? 

A tense nod and Yuri is guided away before he can protest. Oh, there is so much fog. He stumbles after Viktor, looks forward to being allowed to crawl again. 

“Yuri.” Why do they all keep saying his name as if he isn’t listening? Yuri is listening. He is very much here. In the moment. With Viktor. In … the kitchen? “Yuri!” Oh. He nods. “You have to stop eating what he gives you!” No. That is wrong. Yuri likes what Beka feeds him. No. He likes _that_ Beka feeds him. “Yuri!” Hmm? Huh. Why is Viktor so strange? “Yuri, hey! We … we need your help!” Ah. Yes. Yuri wants to help. The Russians helped him when he had nothing. That was kind. Yuri wants to be kind, too. So he nods. “Altin. He … he isn’t who you think he is!” 

_Don’t. Let. Them. Break. Us._

Yuri nods more. Okay. Whatever Viktor wants to tell him. Yuri will just … wait it out. And go home. Warmth around his neck, the city of gold, his Altin, home. 

“We … had to sell you to the Altins! You understand that, right?” Of course he does. It was the best thing that ever happened to him. So he nods, smiles a little, so Viktor knows everything is fine. “We needed insights, Yuri. Our families have been fighting for years, but … we couldn’t tell you before. And I’m sorry, so sorry, I can’t believe—it was supposed to be a month at max! And now you have been with him for a year! And he is breaking you, breaking—” 

Yuri shakes his head. “Not breaking. Master is fixing me!” 

“Master?” Viktor’s voice is rough. “Oh, Yurochka. Oh … We will save you. Just … just keep this, okay? Don’t show Otabek.” Viktor presses a mobile phone into his hands and Yuri cradles it to his chest. “This is for us, yes? So we can talk? Without him hearing it?” 

He nods again, like a bobblehead. Beka likes when Yuri nods a lot. 

Viktor kisses his cheek, says it will be over soon. 

Hopefully, he is wrong. 

\------------ 

“What did Viktor say, my love?” Yuri waves at his family. Why do they look so sad? Maybe because he is leaving. He waves harder. After all, Yuri is fine, they don’t need to worry about him.

“Viktor said … you have been fighting?” Otabek hums. “He said you are breaking me.” 

“And what do you think?” 

“I think you love me.” 

Otabek smiles, and then they kiss.

\----------

“What do you have there?” 

“A phone.” 

“Where did you get a phone?” 

“Viktor gave it to me.” 

“For what?” 

“So he can talk to me. Do you want it?” 

Otabek takes the little thing, tilts it, checks the messages. Then he smiles and gives it back to Yuri. 

“No, love. But I want you to read every message you get to me. Can you do that for me, baby?” 

Of course he can. 

\-----------

Yuri doesn’t stop eating from Beka’s hands. He does, however, read every text message to his master. After all, Yuri was sold to him, and no matter how kind his sellers are, he is the product. So Yuri will make the buyer happy. 

\----------- 

He stares at the ceiling, fighting down the biggest headache he’s had in awhile. 

Yuri wants to be snuggled up to Otabek, because maybe, then he could sleep. But now he is alone because his master did not like Viktor’s last text and left to talk to his father. The anger makes sense. Viktor spoke about killing Otabek. 

Alone in the dark, with his skull hammering as if it wants to burst, Yuri presses the green button. And for the first time in three months, he hears Russian. 

\-----------

_“Are you safe?”_

“Yes.” Yuri counts the stars he can see from their balcony. 

_“Altin isn’t anywhere near?”_

“No.”

_“You wouldn’t lie to me, right?”_

“Never.” Yuri isn’t lying, after all. 

_“Did you read my last text?”_

“You want me to kill him.”

_“Yes.”_

“I can’t.” 

_“I know. Nastya kept saying that, too. But she managed, Yuri. One Altin son down, three to go._ ” 

“Nastya is dead.” Yuri doesn’t like to remember her. Her screams still linger on his mind.

_“But no one would suspect you. You are the perfect pet.”_

Yuri can’t stop himself. “Thank you.” 

_“That … that wasn’t …”_ Viktor keeps going on about Nastya and the Altins and killing his master. Yuri listens with half an ear. He is too busy counting stars. Besides, Otabek loves him, right? 

When the bed dips, Yuri is long asleep. 

\----------

The headaches get worse with every word Viktor writes. 

Yuri hands the phone off at some point. He can’t be bothered to even look at the messages anymore. It’s risky, Beka says, because his tone is different, but Viktor probably won’t notice anyway. 

But the things Viktor said, about Beka breaking him … 

Yuri’s head is killing him. 

\-----------

It’s the morning they are supposed to leave for the bar. Yuri tries to eat, but can’t keep anything in. He vomits it right back up, feels queasy all day, brain slow and sluggish and painful. Beka’s hand on his back helps. 

A gun is strapped to his hip. Yuri knows how to shoot, even though he hasn’t done so in a while. 

Viktor expects him to shoot Otabek. Otabek expects him to shoot Viktor. 

Yuri expects himself to die from the pressure before he can pull the gun. 

Fuck, his head is killing him. Why does it need to be in public? To make a point, yes yes yes yes _yes._ But a dingy bar? 

The metal is hot against his palm when they climb on the bike, hours later. Otabek wants to kiss him. Yuri offers his cheek. Too much. Everything is too much. Beka probably understands. 

Maybe not. Yuri doesn’t understand, either. 

It’s cruel. 

Viktor wants an execution through a lover. 

Otabek wants an execution through a brother. 

Yuri just wants to rest. 

If the shooting won’t kill him, the headache will. 

They climb off the motorcycle and wander into the bar. Like the start of a bad joke, but no one is laughing. When you have to shoot a weapon, you shouldn’t drink. Unless you are an alcoholic going cold-turkey and need a steady hand. Then you should.

But Yuri is just Yuri, so he orders a glass of milk. He waits at the bar, watches Viktor enter, and nods at his kind-of-sort-of-brother. Maybe he is right, after all. He kept telling Yuri not to eat from Beka’s hand and … after vomiting everything out all day, his mind is strangely … clear. But Yuri loves his master, doesn’t he? 

Can you love a master? Why is he even a pet? Shouldn’t he be … equal to his partner? Nastya was never equal. But Nastya is dead. Is that better than being a captive plaything? Nothing makes sense anymore. Yuri is nervous; the air is buzzing with impending violence, and the boots around him are as heavy as his mood. 

Tonight will be the night. This is where the story ends. 

Viktor turns and nods at him. Otabek smiles. And in the end, Yuri is just a slave to both of them. He was never free, never allowed to make his own choices, just a pawn in a game so much larger than the son of two crackheads, the plaything of a mafia prince, the pet of another bratva heir. 

Yuri walks over to the table, smiles, and pulls the trigger. 

And finally, the headache _stops_. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So. Who did Yuri shoot and why?
>
>> Thank you, as always, to my wonderful editor [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/pseuds/Taedae), and to you as the reader.  
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